Hold on
by Sgt-jbbarnes
Summary: In a time where one could be arrested (or even killed) for loving the wrong person, Bucky and Steve need to take what they can get and can't complain if it's too little. People always say things get better when one gets older, but it can't be true if there's a war going on. But it's not the end of the line. not yet.
1. Steve

Steven Grant Rogers was born in July 4th 1918, in Brooklyn, New York. As the fireworks iluminated the sky outside, he cried as loud as his asthmatic lungs would let him. After a few hours of labour, the two women in the bedroom were relieved to see him alive. Even if he was struggling to breath and had S shapped spine and flat feet, he was alive.

From that moment on, his mother called him Steve.

Only a few weeks passed before Sarah Rogers took her baby to a hospital for the first time. There seemed to be nothing wrong with him, but she was a nurse and she knew a few bad things could be avoided if one discovers the source of it soon enough. Well, that and, of course, the fact that she herself struggled with a poor heart and diabetes. Wise Sarah Rogers… that day she prevented her son from having a heart attack before he was ten.

Steve had arrhythmia.

Before Steve was a month old, he had his first cold. He wasn't the kind of child that cries unless there's something really bothering him (such as hunger or a dirty diaper), but that changed when he got sick.

It took three months before anyone noticed there was something wrong with Steve's ears. Sudden loud sounds would startle him and make him, but quiet lullabies could never soothe him. Whenever he was asleep, people talking couldn't wake him up. When Sarah entered the room, he'd only aknowlege her if he saw her of it she was loud. It would take a little longer for anyone to be sure, but deep down his mother already knew:

Steve was partialy deaf.

He did not grow up strong or fast. In fact, he was smaller than the other kids his age since coming out of the womb. He couldn't run without gasping for air and he had trouble breathing even for unknown reasons, and for that everyone blamed his asthma. He had poor balance and was always tripping on thin air, and for that everyone blamed his flat feet. His chest hurted now and then, and for that everyone blamed his poor heart. His reflexes were almost useless, but how could such a frail child be any faster? It wasn't until Sarah notices how pale her son was, that she decided something else was wrong. Wise Sarah Rogers… that day she prevented her son from another premature death.

Steve had pernicious anaemia, and he'd have to drink juice from raw liver for a very long time.

Getting a cold was one of the common things in Steve's life. After his first birthday, his mom had already lost count of how manny times her son had a runny nose and spent nights caughing and sneezing. At age three, a sniffling sound echoing through the apartment was no surprise… though Sarah never stopped worrying. On a particular december evening, Steve started complaining about a pain on his face. He could barelly speak through his blocked nose and sore throat, and his nurse mother needed no more information to know what was happening.

Steve had sinusitis.

Unlikely what would have been common, the sinusitis wasn't just a one time trouble. It kept coming back whenever Steve got another cold, but he could never get used to it. At age four, he thought that was what was happening when his eyes hurted so much he had to keep them closed. Turns out it was just a headache, and the only thing that made him feel better was laying in the dark on his mother's lap. It happened again the next day, and the next, and the next… It kept happening at school, when he tried to read those short child books or paint the sky on a paper sheet. Actually, it happened whenever he had to focus his eyes on something.

Steve had astigmatism.

But it wasn't the only problem about his shinny blue eyes. Days before he found out why the world looked so blurry to him, Steve started learning about colors. Or he should have. Everything looked the same, especially in colorful patterns, and what other kids seemed to understand so well wasn't that obvious to him. How could they always tell which apple was green and which one was red if both colors looked do much alike?

Steve was colorblind.

At age five, Steve Rogers came close to death for the first time. It started with another throat infection, and it escalated quickly to a very high fever that made him wake up in the middle of the night and call for his mother. She put him in a bathtub full of cold water, which made him cry but lowered his temperature. It was a rough night, full of tears and lullabies. Sarah held him close all the time, with a wet coth over his forehead and promissed he'd get better soon. She took care of ill prople for a living, but it didn't mean she'd ever get used to it. So she cried a little when the fever wouldn't go away, and prayed to God to let her baby live to see the sun rise once more.

Very little changed the next day, except for the fact that Steve felt as soft as a jellyfish. Sarah was worried, and she didn't go to work that day. A little before luchtime, she first noticed small red rashed on her son's pale skin. His lips were whiter than the papers he loved to scrabble on, and all his body was still burning with that fever that wouldn't leave him in peace.

Steve had scarlet fever.

Being as lucky as shooting star, Steve's frail body was still strong enough to make that evil sickness go away. It was rare, and Sarah herself had seen very little people survive a scarlet fever. There were no medicines against it, and usually the high temperatures would be enough to condemn someone to fix feet down. When it didn't, the bacteria did the job. Not with Steve, not with another few lucky children God decided was worth living. Sarah had prayed so hard, it had to be a miracle…

A child so fragile as Steve Rogers could never be seen as something other than a burden. Back then, most people believed that those who wasn't strong enough or healthy enough would just disturb the balance in society. Every single day, since her only child was born, Sarah would hear outsiders telling her that her son wasn't worth living. They would tell her he would eventually die from a simple cold, or that she couldn't afford to waste so much money with all those medicies. They tried to make her give him away to a orphanage, or just let him die from negligence.

Sarah always said no.

For five years, no one understood why. Adults would just ignore the existance of such a child, and the kids at school were just too mean. Steve had no friends, no one to play with a kid who couldn't run or to borrow crayons to someone who couldn't even see right. They would whisper in front of him just because it was fun to make him ask what they were saying, and hit him when he wouldn't give away his lunch money. Why did someone like him need to eat, anyway? He'd never make it 'til he was eight years old! But it only lasted five years, because in the worst day he could ever imagine, the better thing in the world happened to him.

Enter Bucky Barnes.


	2. Enter Bucky Barnes

James Buchanan Barnes was born March 10, 1917, in Brooklyn, New York. The labor was easy and his cry was strong and loud. His mother cried along with him, happy to know how strong her baby was. If only she knew it would be a matter of days before she got sick of that sound…

James was not a quiet baby. He was easy and affectionate; he would accept anyone who wanted to hold him and laugh when they made funny faces. The problem was when the adults decided to ignore him. Poor Winifred Barnes… she could never leave her baby on his crib for two seconds before the yelling started.

At first she tried to be there for him and do the housework with her baby on her arms, but eventually she found out it was too much. As soon as George Barnes could afford a playpen, Winifred would leave James in there to do her work. He screamed a lot and the neighbors complained even more, but soon he realized there was nothing he could do to get her mother's attention every second.

Before James's first birthday, the family had stablished a routine. During the day, the baby would sit on his playpen while his mother did the housework and his father worked at the docs. At night, George would come home, kiss his wife and child, take a shower and they would all have dinner together. Before going to bed, George would take his guitar and sing lullabies and Catholic songs. James soon learned to clap his hands and scream for one more song, which George would usually play.

At age two, James started being curious about his father's guitar. He didn't let his father play it in peace anymore, always trying to touch the chords or hit the wooden body. At first, George would just push him and ask Winifred to hold him at least a few inches away. It took a few weeks before he gave up and just let his son satiate that curiosity. It sounded awful, but for his parents it was the most beautiful music ever made.

Both his parents were always bragging about how their son showed interest for music and how he would be a great musician in a near future. Eventually a priest heard that conversation, and asked if they wanted James to learn music from the church band. They said yes, and months before turning five James played well enough for someone to let him play at the Sunday Mass. It was about this time when he started to ask people to call him Bucky; otherwise, the risk of him ending up with the nickname Jimmy would be too great.

Bucky was the sweetest kid in the schoolyard. Sometimes he would play a little to entertain the teachers and show off to his classmates, and everyone was swooning over him. Every kid wanted to be his friend, and even if it does not mean much to a child, there was no deny he loved the attention. Maybe that's why he decided to learn how to play the piano.

However, the most important thing to know about Bucky Barnes is not his family, his talents or his friends. It is his loyalty, and the huge sense of justice that always ran through his veins. That was very clear a year later, the day he finished his lesson before everyone else and Mrs. Smith said he could go to the playground earlier. Behind the slide, he spotted an older boy kicking a very small and fragile child who curled on the floor. Every time the child tried to get up, the boy would kick them again and laugh, saying despicable things about how useless and worthless the other one was. Bucky froze at first; but when the little child managed to get up, he understood he also had to move. So he screamed.

"Hey!" His voice was loud, clear, and a little too fierce for a six year old; and both boys looked at him as he walked to them with firm steps. "Leave him alone or I'll tell Mr. Brown!"

In schoolyard, that was threatening enough. The older kid knew who Bucky was, knew every teacher and staff member loved him and that Mr. Brown, the school principal, would never take him for a liar. He walked away, but not without taking a small package that laid forgotten on the muddy ground.

"Just this time, Rogers!" He shouted, pointing a finger towards the little boy who had to lean against the slide to stay up.

Bucky rolled his eyes with a sigh and turned his attention back to the Rogers kid. What he felt that moment, one could only describe as pure affection. Rogers looked even smaller from this close, barely as tall as Bucky's shoulders, and his sharp bones could be easily seen through the thin fabric of loosen, muddy clothes. He had a hand around his stomach and couldn't straighten his back, but he looked up at Bucky with bright blue eyes and a split lip. It was safe to say he shouldn't have many friends, and it would be easy to find reasons not to like him. Bucky (and all the other kids) learned that frail people weren't worth anything… But when someone was kicking his stomach, that boy tried his hardest to stand up and all Bucky saw was strength.

"You ok?" He asked quieter and the shouting from before, with a warm smile on his face.

Rogers frowned and parted his lips, as if he was waiting for Bucky to say something more.

"What?" He finally asked.

"I asked if you are ok." Bucky tried a little louder, but even if it sounded like a whisper to the other boy, they finally stablished some communication.

"Yeah, thanks… Had him on the ropes though."

At that, Bucky just had to laugh. Not to be mean or because he didn't believe the other kid. He did, actually. He knew that kid could survive a few more punches and kicking, but why should he?

"Sure you did!" He agreed as he threw his an arm around Rogers's shoulders and guided him to sit on the swing. "I'm Bucky, by the way."

"Steve."

They sat in silence for a while, and Bucky started to swing himself. Steve followed a little after, moving slowly enough to keep his toes on the ground. Bucky was much bolder and looked like he was trying to touch the sky. The only sound between them was the cry of the chains, until Bucky tried to stop and almost fell. Steve giggled and as soon as Bucky was motionless, he laughed along. Looking at Steve again, he realized he missed something important.

"The package that boy took… was it yours?"

"Just my lunch." Steve shrugged as if he was used to it.

Bucky did not ask if Steve was going to be hungry or if he had some spare. Instead, he just reached to the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled a sandwich that was a little smashed. He unwrapped it carefully and ripped it in two. He just pushed it to Steve's hand and did not ask if he wanted it.

From that day on, Steve and Bucky were inseparable. The other kids would still mess with Steve and steal his lunch whenever Bucky wasn't looking, but at least he had a friend. Sarah was thrilled when she heard such news, and she told Steve to invite Bucky to play with him whenever he wanted. She treated Bucky as well as she treated her own child and as soon as she learned his forename, she started calling him Jimmy.

Bucky hatted it at first, but never had the guts to tell her so. Steve noticed, but the faces Bucky would make were too funny to put a stop on it. Soon Bucky just accepted that he would always be Jimmy whenever he set a foot on the Rogers household, so he started to call Sarah "Ma". From that moment on, he set in stone that he and Steve would be brothers forever.

Just as real brothers, they grew up together and saw every important thing on each other's lives. When Bucky was ten and his mother gave birth to his sister, Steve held his hand and talked to him so he wouldn't pay attention to the shouting on the other room. When Steve's big mouth betrayed him and someone threw him on an alley to beat the hell out of him, Bucky would always fight along. George hated Steve for that, but still Bucky was there when Sarah decided it was a good idea to teach Steve to take care of his own wounds.

Just like a real brother, Bucky was there when Steve faced death for the second time.

Steve was fourteen when he didn't tell his mother or Bucky about his sore throat. He was stubborn, and convinced himself that all he needed was a warm cup of tea and some rest. The next day, his voice was gone and Bucky decided to stay with him until Sarah got back from work. She scolded him for not telling her earlier, and gave him some syrup, but it didn't work. Soon the fever came, and all she could think about was that awful time when she almost lost him to a scarlet fever.

Steve spent that night immersed on the cold water of a bathtub as his mother tried hard not to cry. The sun came up and the fever didn't go away, just like before. Except because this time there was someone else worried.

Bucky came just after lunch, sweating, breathing hard, and not even trying to hide the fact that he ran all the six blocks that separated the apartment from the school. He found Steve lying on the Murphy bed, the only bed in the house, and Sarah beside him with a rosary tangled on her fingers. Bucky wasn't silent, but Sarah just acknowledged him when he covered her hands with his.

"Ma…" He called, and she looked at him with tears on her eyes. "Go get some rest, I'll stay here."

"I can't." Sarah shook her head and touched Steve's brow. Bucky finally had the guts to look at him, and his heart twisted. His best friend — his bother — was soaked in sweat and his face was as red as flames. There was a weird rash over his bare chest, covered for nothing but a wet cloth. Without even touching, Bucky knew his skin burned. "He was complaining about pain on his knees, then on his hips, and arms… I gave him some aspirins, but his heart, Jimmy…"

She didn't need to say anything else. Bucky could know little about diseases and all the bad thing Sarah faced every single day, he didn't understand what a fever had to do with Steve's heart, but he knew damn well how fragile Steve's health was. Sometimes he would forget about it, especially when they both had their knuckles bruised and their lips split from a fight in an alley. Even if Steve would stumble and fall and miss every punch, he was so fierce Bucky always forgot how easy it'd be to break him.

It wasn't fair, that someone as strong as him had to be trapped in such a fragile body. Steve wanted to change the world by shouting at it, and he should be able to fight back when someone tried to stop him. His lungs should be strong enough to let him run, his muscles should be thicker to let him fight, his eyes should let him see how beautiful the world really was, and his heart… his heart should keep his blood running. His heart should — couldn't — give up, no matter what.

"You can't do anything if you're too tired." Bucky finally said, with a knot on his throat. Sure her fear was greater than his was, but he was still afraid. "I'll wake you up if we need you."

Bucky all but dragged Sarah to the couch so she could lie down. The apartment was so small all she needed to do was turn her head to see Bucky kneeling beside the bed, just where she was praying a few minutes earlier. What she didn't see, was when he took Steve's hands and kissed his knuckles. He laced their fingers together and traced Steve's arm with his free hand. There was nodules on the back of his wrist and on the outside of his elbow. That Bucky did not touch, because he didn't know if it hurt.

"Get better soon, you punk." He begged in a whisper, as he kissed the back of Steve's hand. Steve's arm moved fast and violent, and Bucky was a little frightened, but it was just a spasm.

Now and then Bucky would put a hand on Steve's chest just to feel his erratic heart, make sure it was still beating and not a bit worse than it already was. It hurt to see him like this and be able to do nothing, so he just sat there and whispered to his ear. Asked him to get better, promised he wouldn't leave for anything in this world, begged his heart to keep beating, said he couldn't lose him… Because he couldn't. He wouldn't know what to do if Steve died.

Bucky only notice he was crying when a cold hand whipped a tear from his cheek. He looked up to see Steve looking at him and let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"Hey, punk!" He greeted quietly, yet still loud enough for Steve to hear it. "Feeling any better?"

"A little…" His voice was harsh and rough, and he looked like it hurt to talk, so Bucky dared to put a finger over his lips. Steve smiled.

"Want me to call your Ma?"

Steve shook his head and pulled Bucky's hand closer. He was weak, but it was enough for Bucky to understand what he wanted. Whenever Sarah had to work the night shift, Bucky would be more than happy to come over and sleep at their couch. However, in the winter Steve would invite him to the Murphy bed so one could keep the other warm. They had never shared a bed just for the sake of it, but at that moment, Bucky couldn't deny anything for that boy. So he got up just to lay on the bed and pulled Steve to cuddle against his chest, more than happy to notice that the fever wasn't as bad as before.

It wasn't the first time they shared a bed, and it wasn't the first time Bucky kissed Steve's brow or ran his fingers through his hair… But damn if it didn't make funny things to his heart…


	3. Who is the sinner

**TRIGGER WARNING:** There are two scenes where the characters talk about homophobia. There are no graphic descriptions, but it might make you feel a little uncomfortable.

 **N/A:** I'm sorry for the delay, this week has been wild! The good news is I found a beta reader! I don't know if she's gonna beta the following chapters (especially because she's not in this fandom), but for this one I think she did a very good job. That being said, let's all thank Giu for this huge favor!

Buck Barnes was eleven when he first realized he wasn't like the other boys. He had a few friends he knew since kindergarten, and until then they all seemed pretty uninterested when the subject was girls. They didn't like to play with girls, or talk to girls, or do anything they considered to be girly. Some of them had older sisters who they all agreed were silly. Bucky was the only one who had a younger sister, but since she was just one year old, there wasn't much to talk about her.

All of a sudden, those opinions started to change. One day, Gilmore Hodge said he had a surprise for the boys in his backpack, but couldn't say what it was until there were no adults close; so in their break time, Bucky, Hodge and two other boys hid in one of the empty classrooms and Hodge finally showed something none of them had never seen before: a Tijuana bible. It was a comic book with only eight pages and small enough to fit in a grown man's pocket. This one in particular was a parody of the Etta Kett comic strip they all knew from the newspapers.

The first page seemed very normal and it got the boys rolling their eyes and saying they expected something more interesting. But when Hodge turned the page, there was a image of Etta with her legs spread and the boy's fingers disappearing in the space between her legs. Hodge smiled proudly as the three other boys were almost fighting to get their hands on the comic book, but once Bucky took a good look at it, he wasn't as interested as the others. His friends talked about the drawing itself, curious about what would it look like between a lady's legs in real life, about how would it be to touch female breasts… All Bucky cared about was the funny end, when Etta's father asks "How is it I catch you fucking my daughter?" and her boyfriend answers "I's wonderful."

Later that year, the other boys started bringing other dirty stuff they found hidden on their respective homes. Most of them was pictures of real women in revealing clothes, some of them showing a breast or wearing transparent fabrics, some of them bending over furniture. Bucky saw a few but never understood why his friends were so amazed about female bodies. After a few times, he stopped attending those secret meetings to hang out with Steve, the way he did before Hodge brought the first Tijuana bible.

When Bucky was twelve, his friends started to show interest about kissing girls. More than that, some girls showed interest about kissing _him_. He always ignored them, of course. The thought of his lips touching a girl's seemed a little gross, even more when he heard Hodge saying something about tongues. When Bucky asked his mother what a late bloomer was, he just assumed the expression fitted him just right. Until he met Mike.

Mike McNamara was the same age as Bucky and moved to Brooklyn when he was fifteen. They first met after a Sunday mass, when Mike left the church and found Bucky leaning against the huge doorframe, with an unlit cigarette between his lips, looking for a match on his pocket while waiting for his mother and father to finish whatever conversation they were having with someone he didn't know. Mr. McNamara was also entertained in a conversation with someone, so Mike leaned besides Bucky and smiled to him.

"Aren't you the piano guy?" Mike asked, already handling a match to Bucky, who accepted it with a smile.

Bucky had his eyes glued to Mike as he lit his cigarette, and it was like something had snapped inside of his head. The other boy was just a little shorter than him, a little skinny but not as much as Steve, although the blue eyes matched Bucky's best friend, and he had bright red hair. It wasn't the first time Bucky though another fella was beautiful and couldn't stop starring at him, but something about Mike prevented him from being ashamed from this amazement.

"Indeed I am." Bucky answered just after blowing a little smoke to the sky. He never intended to give Mike a flirting smile, but he did it anyway. "I'm Bucky. Never saw you here." He offered his right hand for Mike to shake and was just a little impressed about how soft his skin was.

"Mike. Just moved from Bronx."

They got along easily that day, and were both glad to know they'd be attending the same school. However, even though Bucky did his best to make Mike feel included, they didn't get close at first. Mike would hang out with some boys from his history class, and Bucky was always too busy being with Steve. Even if they didn't talk every day, Bucky never failed to be astonished whenever he saw Mike smiling, or frowning at his math lessons, or even _breathing_. It made him feel confused, scared and even a little sick, but there was no denying: Bucky felt attracted to Mike.

He never said anything. Not to Steve, not even to himself. It was a feeling he kept locked inside of his heart and his mind and never let it scape. Because it scared him to death, because it explained why he never wanted to kiss a dame.

On a cold night of December, when Sarah was working the night shift and Bucky shared the Murphy bed with Steve to keep them both warmer, he felt his heart race more than ever. It always happened whenever he felt those skinny arms around his waist or that warm breath on the back of his neck, but it was Steve… Steve, his best friend in the world, the guy he loved as if he was his own flesh and blood… But if he could have sinful thoughts about Mike, how could his love for Steve be as innocent as he always believed? Bucky spent that night awake, trying to keep as far away from Steve as possible and praying to God to get that perversion out of his head.

Two days later, he kissed Mike.

It was a Saturday afternoon and Mike's father wasn't home, so he invited Bucky to hang out. It was awkward because Bucky had never been to a friend's house before, Steve being the only exception, so he didn't know what to do. With Steve, he would just sit in a corner with his guitar and pop gums until Steve was throwing pencils on his head and telling him to stop. With Mike, he didn't even know how to start conversation without external influence.

Once Mike realized they were doomed to an awkward silence, he asked if Bucky played card. When Bucky said no, he decided to teach him Piquet. By the middle of the first round, they were laughing and teasing each other. When Bucky lost, he demanded a rematch and swore Mike would face a shameful defeat… Which he didn't.

It didn't take long before Bucky was tired of losing, so they decided to sit on the couch and just chat instead. The subject changed from jokes to some personal stuff, until Bucky felt comfortable enough to ask something he'd been thinking since he first spoke to Mike.

"Why did you move?"

That made Mike lower his head and take a deep breath. Bucky instantly deduced that he shouldn't have touched the subject, but before he could say anything Mike looked at him with a very serious expression.

"Can I trust you?" He asked very quietly, just above a whisper, but didn't give time for an answer. "I mean, I know we're friends or… sort of… It's just… I want to tell you. But if you tell anyone, I'll be in real trouble."

"I won't tell." Bucky promised without a second thought. He could be many things, but gossipy wasn't one of them and would never be.

"Ok." Mike took a very deep breath and bit his own lip before talking. "I had this friend… and we were very close. Too close, you know what I mean?"

Bucky just frowned and shrugged. He thought about Steve, but there was no scenario in his head to make him understand how a friendship could be the trigger to make someone move out.

"I mean I loved him more than I should." At that, Bucky's eyes went wide and he almost chocked on his own breath. He couldn't stand the fact that he himself had a crush on a guy, much less being in love with one… or saying it out loud to someone he didn't even know that well.

"A neighbor saw us kissing." Mike continued with his head down, struggling with the words, his voice quieter enough for Bucky to hear the shame on it. If he was ashamed of kissing the other boy or of being caught, there was no way to tell. "He told my dad… told everyone, actually. My dad beat the hell out of me." He chuckled with no humor, and finally dared to look at Bucky again. "When I was bruised enough, he tried to fix it and tell everyone I was just a kid and didn't know what I was doing, but people would still look at me and call me a fairy. So we just had to get out of there, and Brooklyn was the further we could afford to go."

Bucky didn't say a word. Couldn't find his voice, couldn't think about what to say. He just sat there, staring at this fella he had been thinking about every single day for months and felt his heart sink on his chest. Before that, he never had a chance to really _talk_ to Mike, to know what he hid under the easy laughter and light jokes. In that moment, he could do nothing but admire him and all he saw was the bravest man he had ever known. He felt like a coward for denying what was so obvious, when Mike took what he wanted, paid the price for it and still was brave enough to not bury the subject. Bucky just wished he could be like him.

"Please say something." Mike begged, not even trying to hide how afraid he was of Bucky's reaction. "I understand if you want to go away and never talk to me again, but… Just say something, please."

Words still failed Bucky, even if he opened and closed his mouth in an attempt to find them. Then Mike licked his lips in that way that usually made Bucky pray for forgiveness, but not that time. That time he didn't fight his impulses, he just leaned forward until his lips touched someone else's for the first time. Mike's lips were soft, warm, and it didn't matter if it was too obvious he was frozen, it made Bucky's heart race like never before. Until Mike pushed him.

"I… Um… I'm glad you don't have a problem with that but…"

"Shut up, I wanted to do that for months." Bucky interrupted and pulled Mike to kiss him again, finding no resistance this time.

When their lips parted, Bucky found out that having someone else's tongue inside his mouth wasn't even near as gross as he expected. It was warm, and good, and it felt right. For the first time he didn't pray to God to make him stop thinking about other boys. For the first time, he didn't feel ashamed of what he wanted.

Of course it changed the next day, at the Sunday mass.

The new day brought the news about a man who was killed overnight. He left home to have a few drinks, and hours later was on his knees, in front of another fella in the alley behind the bar. Five other men walked down the street when they hear some suspicious sounds and decided to investigate. The man who was on his knees couldn't stand all the punches and kicks. The other one woke up cuffed on a hospital bed.

Bucky heard that story at the kitchen table, as his mother put eggs on his plate and his five-year-old sister played with her food. His father didn't seem bothered to say such things in front of a child, and if his mother thought otherwise she never said anything. As for Bucky, all he could think of was it could have been Mike, if he had done more than just kissing that fella from Bronx or even if he and Bucky had been caught the previous day. Still, when he thought about that kiss there was no regret in the memory.

It changed at church, when the priest started to talk about how tragic that event was. He wasn't sad about the death itself though, but for the path both men had chosen. He spoke of how the Devil tempts people, and how faith could have saved them if they had just listened. Still, there was Bucky, sitting in front of a piano next to a Catholic altar, listening to a priest just like he did three times a week and looking at Jesus Christ pined on a cross.

He believed. He belied in the Lord and his Son above anything. He believed the Holy Bible and the words the priest said, but at that moment it all felt so wrong it made him feel sick. So he dared to look at the people on the benches, and the first thing his eyes caught was Mike's red hair. Mike had his head so low the hair was the only thing visible, but somehow Bucky knew he was trying not to cry. Maybe because he felt the moisture on his own eyes, as the priest kept going and going and going… Still, all he wanted to do was stand up, wrap his arms around Mike and tell him to stop listening to that bullshit. Because it had to be bullshit, it just had to…

However, even after the mass ended he never had a chance to check if Mike was ok. When he finally got out of the church, his friend was already by the end of the street and he couldn't just run to him with no explanation.

"Ma said she's in the mood for a cake, wanna come over?" Steve asked from his side. Bucky didn't know how long he had been there, but it didn't matter. It was good to hear his voice, especially when it gave him the chance to stay away from his dad for a few more hours and avoid more conversation about fags being killed.

"Yeah, sure." He said without looking at Steve, and left to tell his own mother that he wouldn't go home with them.

Bucky was quiet all the way to the Rogers residence. Even after Sarah took another way to go to the market and left him to walk alone with Steve, he kept his hands on his pockets and didn't say a word. Steve looked at him a little worried, but he also kept quiet until he closed his apartment door.

"What's wrong?" He asked before Bucky could take off his coat.

Bucky couldn't help but notice that Steve knew him so well that he didn't even had to ask if he was fine, he just _knew_ it. Still, he tried to lie.

"S nothing." He murmured and he lay on the couch, half of his legs hanging off the furniture.

Steve sighed heavily and lifted Bucky's head to sit beneath it, making his own legs a pillow. He ran his fingers through his friend's hair, and Bucky closed his eyes to the nice touch.

"Ma 's gonna be here soon, so if you don't tell me now you'll have to brood it until tomorrow."

Bucky threw an arm over his eyes and shook his head. There was no way he could tell Steve why he was so upset, and there was nothing Steve could do about it. Still, he was already brooding it. He felt his thoughts eat his guts and spit it out with no mercy, so he fought his fear and sat up to look his best friend in the eyes.

"Do you honestly believe what he said? The priest?" He asked before he could stop the words. Maybe it wasn't the best way to start it, but it was already too late to take it back.

"Well… He _is_ a priest." Steve pondered with a shrug.

"No, I mean… What he said about the man who died. You honestly believed he had it coming?"

A moment of silence, and Bucky already regretted saying something. Steve frowned and the engines inside his head were almost audible, still there was no way to tell what he was thinking.

"No." He finally answered. "I kept thinking about that prostitute Jesus saved, you know?" Suddenly Steve looked as upset as Bucky was, as if he'd been wanting to tell the priest to shut up and it physically hurt to hold it back. Knowing Steve, he knew how much effort his silence took.

"You think someone can go to hell for being with another fella?" Bucky rested his head against the back of the couch and looked at the ceiling, questioning for the first time ever. He heard Steve change next to him but didn't dare to look. Still, he felt the weight of a pair of blue eyes over him.

"Don't you?" Steve whispered with so much kindness it made Bucky close his eyes and take a deep breath. Would he still be this kind if he knew? Would he still sit to close and let him share his bed when it was too cold to sleep alone? Suddenly Bucky felt how difficult it was for Mike to tell him, and he admired him even more. He felt like a coward for not having this strength, even when it was Steve asking.

"I don't know." He admitted. "They didn't hurt anyone, still people hurt them. No one dies from two punches, Steve… they suffered." Finally, he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Steve again. His friend was sad, as sad as Bucky himself. "Isn't murder a sin? Why no one calls them murders?"

Steve looked like he was trying to find the right answer, but truth is: he was studying Bucky's face. The one thing he liked to do the most was drawing, and he was good with faces. He was used to read expressions, analyze every curve of a face to reproduce it faithfully on a piece of paper. He knew how to read a person better than anyone they knew. Bucky couldn't help feeling naked when Steve looked at him like that.

"You're hiding something. Or there's something you don't know how to say… Do you know one of the aggressors?" Bucky smiled as he shook his head, because Steve could be awesome at reading _people_ , but was terrible at guessing. "The man who died, then? Or the one in the hospital?"

"I can't tell you." He interrupted before Steve ran out of options.

"You tell me everything."

With a heavy sigh, Bucky got up just because he couldn't stand being so close to Steve. He had to turn away, to get rid of the weight of those eyes… Still, the kitchen in front of them was the further he could go in such a small apartment, so he served himself a glass of water and drank it like a shot of tequila.

"Not everything."

"Well, that's new… I tell you everything." Bucky turned to look at Steve, leaning against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest. "I mean, not that you _have_ to tell me… But you know you can trust me, right?"

"Yeah, you'd probably hate me and I don't want that, so let's drop it, ok?" He looked at his own feet as if it would make Steve forget about their conversation. He just wished Sarah would come in and ask them to help her with the cake, but the universe wasn't so kind.

"I'd never hate you. But if you wanna drop it, we'll drop it."

Bucky was able to keep his worries to himself for two more days. He didn't talk about it to Mike, since they didn't see each other without the company of others at school, but he felt relieved when he noticed he seemed well. They exchanged some flirty looks when their friends weren't looking and dared to hold hands under the lunch table, but besides that nothing changed.

It was a cold Wednesday when Bucky found himself at Steve's again. Sarah was working the night shift and he went there to spend the night as always. He knew there was no need, but the boys would never complain about each other's company. Above all, it made Bucky feel that everything was normal again, with no secrets and no bad news about strangers.

After dinner, when the Murphy bed was already lowered and Steve sat in there with a sketchbook over his lap, Bucky didn't hesitate to sit by his side. Steve didn't move or reacted to his presence, so he got real close to his friend's ear and popped his gum as loud as he could. Steve jumped and hit him with the sketchbook, as Bucky laughed and tried to keep his friend away.

"Jerk." Steve cursed before going back to his sketch.

Bucky smiled and left him to claim his own spot on the couch. It wasn't until he was ready to say goodnight that Steve looked at him with a deep frown.

"You know it's like 40 degrees outside, right?" He asked, putting the sketchbook aside.

"So?" Bucky stared at him, a little nervous because he knew where it was going.

"You always sleep in the bed when it's this cold."

And that was it. Bucky had been afraid Steve would ask for this, but he couldn't just slip under his best friend's covers and not tell him what was going on. It wasn't fair and Steve had the right to know, but… _Screw it_ , he thought. It didn't matter if he was afraid, Steve had the right to know. So he sat up and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and a heavy look on his face.

"Remember when I said I don't tell you everything?" Steve nodded once, before moving to sit on the bed, mirroring Bucky's position. "There's just one thing I didn't tell you, but I need to. You have the right to know."

Steve shook his head and took Bucky's hands in his own.

"No, you don't." He said firmly, looking deep into his eyes. "You can, but I won't die if you don't tell me or anything."

Bucky allowed himself to tangle his fingers with Steve's, observing how their fingers fit together as if he wanted to print it on his brain.

"I kissed someone last Sunday… a fella." He looked up at Steve and waited for him to untangle their fingers, but Steve didn't move, so Bucky continued. "I… had never kissed anyone before… You know that. I always thought kissing girls was kind of gross, actually, but with him it wasn't."

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Bucky dared to stroke the back of Steve's hands and felt relieved when Steve squeezed his lightly. It had to be a good sign, still Bucky was too afraid of what would happen next.

"Are you a queer?" Steve finally asked. The apartment was dark, but when Bucky nodded, he could swear he saw his friend's face become a little sad. "Come to bed, Bucky, it's too cold."

After that, Steve finally let go of Bucky's hands and lay on the mattress with his back turned to him. Bucky hesitated, but lay behind Steve as far as the small bed would allow him. After a few minutes, Steve moved to press his back against Bucky and held his hand over his own chest. He pulled Bucky's arm around himself, asking his friend to hold him harder and he did it without a second thought. When Bucky kissed Steve's hair, he smiled and kissed Bucky's hand.

"I'd never hate you, brother." Steve murmured, already sounding as if he was about to fall asleep. "You're the best guy I know."

"Thanks." Bucky whispered on his ear and pulled him even closer.


End file.
